Being A Father
by theconsultingdreamer
Summary: John steps up to his role of being a father when Sam gets seriously injured for the first time. Teen!chesters, Sam is 13 and Dean is 17.


Sam was two feet behind John as they made their way through the abandoned house. Dean was outside, going around the back. Gun in hand, John pushed open the door to the bedroom and glanced around cautiously. Nothing. Just as he was getting ready to push open the door to the nursery, a strangled cry of pain came from behind him. He turned around to see Sam, a look of shock and pain on his face. His hands were pressed against his side, where his shirt was darkening with blood. A maniacal laugh filled the air as the spirit disappeared from behind Sam, the rusty knife it had held clattering to the floor.

John felt sick at the look of sheer terror in his 13 year old son's eyes, and watched in horror as he mouthed, "Daddy…" before falling to his knees. As he dashed to catch Sam before he face planted, he realized that was the first time he had heard Sam call him Daddy in nearly 8 years. "Dean!" he yelled as he grabbed Sam's shoulders. "Dean, get in here!"

Sam's face was starting to turn pale. John gripped his face and gave him a gentle shake. "Stay with me, Sammy. Stay with me, boy."

Sam coughed, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. Two tears streaked down his way too pale face before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against John.

Dean dashed into the room and balked at the sight at Sam unconscious in John's arms. "Oh god…"

"We have to get him back to the motel room, I can't stitch him with the spirit around."

He threw the keys at Dean and hoisted Sam into his arms. They were hurrying to the car. Dean didn't question the fact that it was John in the backseat holding Sam instead of him. He threw the car in reverse and peeled out of the gravel driveway. They were back at the motel in under twenty minutes.

Sam was drifting in and out of consciousness by the time they had him laid on the bed, all the towels from the bathroom beneath him. He was gritting his teeth and trying not to cry. John grabbed the first aid kit and the bottle of whiskey. Dean poured some into a Styrofoam cup and placed it against Sam's lips. "Bottoms up, Sammy."

Sam coughed as the alcohol burned his throat. Dean pulled his head onto his lap as John cut the bloodstained shirt away and started cleaning the wound. It was deep, but it hadn't hit anything vital. There was heavy bruising already forming around his abdomen, and John figured that was what had caused him to cough up blood. He noticed Sam's lips were still stained red with blood. It was a drastic contrast between the waxy look his skin had taken on.

"I'm gonna wash it out and start stitches, okay? Dean's got you." John glanced at Dean, who gripped Sam's hand as John splashed peroxide on the gash. Sam cried out and bit his lip to stop from yelling again as John started getting the worst of the grime out of the wound. Fresh blood ran down his cheek. John threaded the needle, the sight of Sam's eyes clenched shut against the pain killing him. "Sam, it's okay."

Dean was brushing the sweaty bangs from Sam's forehead. He nodded at John, who took a deep breath before making the first stitch.

Sam whined through his teeth. He was mostly quiet through the first five stitches, occasionally whimpering. It was by far the worst injury he had suffered in his thirteen years, and the rapidly forming bruises had to be adding to the pain of stitches. Obviously the whiskey hadn't done much to take the edge off. John thought of the stash of heavy duty painkillers he had, and made a mental note to give Sam two. It would knock the kid out for almost a full day, but Sam would need the rest.

After the sixth stitch, Sam started openly crying. He choked out, "I'm sorry…sorry…" John saw his pain echoed on Dean's face. "It's okay, Sammy, you did nothing wrong."

"Sorry…for crying…"

"Its okay, Sammy."

Twelve stitches in and Sam was full out sobbing. The gash was about halfway closed. John grit his teeth. Seeing Sam hurting this bad was killing him. "Halfway there, son. You're doing great."

"Okay." Sam choked out in between sobs.

Three quarters of the way through, Sam's chest was heaving, and he was sobbing so hard John was worried he would make himself sick. He saw tears in Dean's eyes and he held onto his little brother and tried to console him. If he was being honest, his own eyes were prickling. The kid was thirteen years old, he shouldn't be feeling this much pain. Self hatred flooded John as he thought back to the first time Dean had been seriously injured like this, and how he had tried to be strong, like Sam had been. In the end, he was crying the same was Sam was. John didn't think them weak because of it; he admired how strong his boys were.

He tied the knot on the last stitch and wiped some of the dried blood away. "All done Sammy. I'm proud of you."

Sam was still sobbing, but he was starting to quiet. John looked at Dean. "I have to grab something from the car. Try to calm him down, he's going to make himself sick."

Dean nodded. John turned and jogged out to the car, grabbing the pills from behind the driver's side door panel before heading back to the room.

He opened the door to see Dean holding Sam up as he lay on his good side, head hanging over the edge of the bed as he retched into a trash can. John knew that would happen.

"I got you something, Sammy." Dean helped Sam sit up as John handed him the pills and a cup of water. Sam swallowed them and leaned against Dean. John nodded at Dean. "Give him twenty minutes and he'll be out."

"That the strong stuff?"

"Yeah." John started cleaning up the mess from stitching Sam up. Sam was sniffling on the bed, watching John with eyes that were steadily becoming more and more unfocused. John had just about finished cleaning up when Sam murmured, "It doesn't hurt as bad…"

Dean smiled. "That's good."

"But my stomach feels funny…and the room keeps spinning…"

Dean and John shared a glance, and Dean giggled a bit. "That happens."

John sat down on the other side of the bed and brushed Sam's hair from his face. "You think you'll be okay, Sammy?"

"Y'ssir…" he slurred. John smiled. "Your stomach okay?"

"Nauseous…."

"That's because of the pills. You gonna throw up?"

"N'sure…"

By then, his eyelids were drooping. John said quietly to Dean, "Keep the trash can nearby, and keep an eye on him until he's out. You remember when you had these."

Dean made a face. "Oh god, I puked all over myself."

"Exactly." John made his way over to his bed, but stopped. He walked back over to the bed Sam and Dean were laying on, and carefully laid down next to Sam. Barely coherent, Sam glanced over at John. "Gnight Dad."

"Night, Sammy."

Dean pulled Sam against his chest. John closed his eyes and listened to his boys breathing. It had been a while since he had really been a father. "I do try…" he whispered to the silence. If either boy was awake to hear him, they said nothing. "I love you boys. I really do."

With that, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.


End file.
